Who Could Touch a God?
by ColorfulConstellations96
Summary: The events of this occur the night Light is freed of all Kira-related charges. Light's god complex is the main focus through his own eyes while he acts upon and ponders over the influence of sex in the investigation and in his own life. There is no real plot and this is rated M for disturbing sexual content. Enjoy!
Hey guys! So this is my first shot at a smutty, dirty, filthy M-rated fanfic. Please, I am begging for critiques!

This fic happens the night that Light is cleared of all Kira-related charges after the Yotsuba arc. I had some stuff leading up to this but ultimately it was cotton candy space waster without substance. This was the main stuff and there was nothing interesting other than it, so viola! I am really sorry it's so short; I can easily elongate it if feedback advises it. ^,^ Please enjoy the read and give me some constructive criticism. Thanks!

* * *

"Will you be needing anything, Light?"

"Just a good night's sleep for once. Thanks for everything, Matsuda. Have a good night."

"Good night, Light."

The world was a blur as Light reeled into the dark bedroom. He was not at home; he had agreed to stay in the Task Force Headquarters at L's request and against his poor father's wishes, in case something _came up_ in the night. _Of course_ , Light thought bitterly, _that's the only reason the perverted bastard needs me here._ Here the bedroom was new and unused, not the room he had shared with the detective for two months. It was cool and clean and _all his_. A shaking hand closed around the door handle and eased it shut silently, only for Light to slam his back harshly against it as soon as it shut with an unnerving shudder.

Light's blood was racing, a wild smile curling across his glinting teeth as unexplainable ecstasy pulsing through his veins.

 _Finally._

He had had to be patient; always he had to be patient; three days since the Death Note kissed his fingertips, three days since Higuchi screamed, three days since God reentered his life. He could see it as clearly as it was but a moment ago; the click of his watch and the echo of the shining needle piercing his skin, the brilliance as his scarlet blood ran down onto the flawless white paper. His excitement had been so great that Higuchi's death nearly brought him to an unexpected orgasm, packed deep within him, waiting for its liberation ever since he had relinquished the Death Note so long ago. The absolute terror sparking through Higuchi's bulging eyes, the string of saliva under the helicopter lights as his mouth opened and his vocal chords tore with an agonized scream, his back arching as he fell to his knees- the scene was orgasmic, and it was all Light's doing. He had won again. He always won, no matter what the police did, or L, or anybody. Nobody could touch him; the world was Light's, and he would be its God at long last.

Now, pressing his back into the door as the cool darkness enveloped him, Light felt himself trembling with unsuppressed, maniacal laughter, ringing in his ears with a deafening volume and yet very distant, as though separated by a wall of glass, and he was vaguely aware of a firm hand palming through the denim of his crotch at the hint of an erection growing there. There was something beautiful about the chill in the dark air. He was drunk on his victory, and his senses heightened since his return as Kira kicked into gear, and his labored breathing and the scratch of skin on denim echoed deep into his ears beautifully. Darkness was so beautiful, because it meant that there was a need for light. And it meant he was alone.

He reached up to take hold of his collar, hooking a long finger within to tug at the heat building there, the other hand snaking down through his auburn hair and down his slender neck, undoing his shirt buttons slowly, relishing the kiss of cool air on his hot skin. It was a rush of adrenaline for him, and with a sudden burst of energy he reached down and tore open his jeans so hard the zipper broke. But Kira did not care as he shredded off his pants and reeled to the bed, clutching for his pulsing erection and tugging wildly at it through his briefs. He threw himself down upon the bed, rutting into the side of the mattress with a desperate and animalistic intensity, the sensation nearly sending him over the edge already. But not yet, he told himself silently; he had to enjoy this. This was a monumental event that he would not soon let go to waste.

Light crawled up onto the bed, straddling a pillow and plunging his hand into his briefs. He clamped his hand tightly around the swollen organ within, tingling with hot blood and dripping with precum. He gently brushed his thumb across his soft, sensitive head and let out a feral growl, doing it again and again as he drove himself against the pillow. There was something about domination that made Light truly experience pleasure. He loved the face of helplessness beneath him, the sensation of pain as his victim dug their nails into his shoulders in an effort to protect herself. He had had sex twice, once in his first year of senior school and once with Misa, both truly horrendous experiences. For the girls, anyway. Light had found his euphoria, especially with Misa, because he had made her cry. A quick hand over her small rosy mouth and the threat of a potential slap was enough to silence her, and he reveled in how she dripped afterwards with scarlet-tinted semen. He apologized gently as she curled up trembling with her back to him, blood drizzling down her white thighs, but the way his red eyes glinted said otherwise. Misa was too blinded by stars to see it.

But _this_ , this was different. Light finally could not take it and peeled his briefs down to his knees, freeing his painful erection and savoring the chill dancing across his ruddy skin. He wrapped his fingers around himself delicately, pumping himself with increasing ferocity, licking cum from his fingers and grunting deep within his throat. There was no sound other than Light's low moans here and there and the gritting of his teeth, the slap of wet skin on wet skin and rustling sheets. He was not one to moan, but it was so delicious and long-awaited that he could not help himself. His sporadic movements were controlled and familiar and _wonderful_ , here, with himself against a pillow and his own hand. Nobody could ever make him feel like this. Nobody was worthy of touching him, and when they did, he felt nothing but disgust and irritation; they were not worthy. They were not worthy. Only God could do this, only God could touch Light, but Light _was_ God. Who could touch a God?

Light's thoughts flickered for but a moment to that one night that he had let himself fall from grace, that one night two weeks into his imprisonment at Ryuzaki's wrist and the both of them, two young men in the heat of their sexual urges gave into the sin of the flesh and engaged in a frenzied groping session, Light trying to ignore the total disconnection of Ryuzaki in the situation. Had it felt good? Of course it had. Light was hornier than hell, and Ryuzaki's obsession with oral activity made it easier to stomach. Always cake or a lollipop in his goddamn mouth, so why not Light's cock? He'd hated the taste, but it was his own fault. He had made himself available to a teenage boy who was desperate, and all Light had to do was close his eyes and savor the sound. It suddenly hit him that at the time, Light was picturing himself sucking himself. Actually, he had _always_ done that. He knew that if he even allowed Misa, or even anyone else enter his train of thought his erection would die quicker than Ryuzaki could recover it, and the very idea of what would happen if his family found out that he was being performed fellatio upon by a twenty-something year old _man_ terrified him. The cameras had been shut off at Ryuzaki's request and Watari's displeasure, thank god. And so Light closed his eyes tightly, buried his fingers into the feathery hair down to the skull, tightened them to the point of drawing an annoyed yelp from his partner, and frantically pounded into the man's mouth until he came with a deep groan and felt his legs give way, leaving the detective beside him with an awful expression. Ryuzaki had gotten his revenge later, at two in the morning, long after Light had fallen asleep, coercing the boy to jerk him off with the threat of phoning his sleeping father.

And suddenly all disgust drained from Light's conscience as he recalled Ryuzaki's face when Higuchi died, and his expression when the handcuffs were unlocked. Or at least, Light's was. Ryuzaki kept his handcuff on for the rest of the day, dragging Light's abandoned one behind him like some empty leash. Pervert. He had been so worked up that he had actually left to the restroom for over an hour, returning with a bitter glare and flushed cheeks. He was so confused, so angry, so _helpless_ , and that was what Light loved. He loved knowing that L was doubting himself, failing, that he was grasping at straws and that he was _wrong_. He was right, but he could not _prove_ it. He could do nothing.

His face had been one of utter confusion, and Light shuddered momentarily, his rhythm on his cock stalling for a moment as sheer pleasure rippled through his body. L, The World's Greatest Detective, frozen with sheer horror and abandon flooding his usually blank face and his inky eyes churning with unfamiliar bewilderment. And Light had fucked him in the mouth. Kira had fucked L even though he did not know it. At the time it had been Light and Ryuzaki, two unusually horny young men desperate for some sort of companionship or fulfillment after their isolation (it was still Ryuzaki's fault). Ryuzaki was demisexual, and found his attraction influenced strictly by one's intelligence. Light's brilliance was enough to deem him a suitable sexual partner, or rather at the time, a tool to satisfy Ryuzaki's raging hormones. He only acted upon his sexuality when he was beyond stressed, which was not too often, and Light had not had any sexual contact except for one quick, unmotivated, and ashamed masturbation session in the bathroom with Ryuzaki waiting right outside the door ("It is quite common for a seventeen-year-old boy to react upon impulse, Light-kun. Please, just pretend I am not here. Don't worry about the noise either." "Thanks, Ryuzaki, you're such a comfort.")

The memory was vivid, and Light had been horrified at himself when he bit Ryuzaki's neck a tad too hard and drew blood, and in retaliation, ever the child who opposed unfair action, Ryuzaki frenched him to the point that his lips were bruised and bloody. But damn, did it taste good.

Looking back, Light was thoroughly disgusted. Kira had _allowed_ L to kiss him, to take advantage of him. And he had loved it. But it took mighty sacrifices to save the world. And again, he remembered now the sight of his thick dick enveloped in the thin white mouth, the sound of a slight gag when he thrust forward so hard that Ryuzaki actually rocked backwards off his heels, the disgust when Light spat cum on his face after he jerked him off, and the look of panic on Ryuzaki's face as he demanded to know why Higuchi was writhing on the pavement before he stilled forever. His jaw went slack mid-sentence- Light had fucked that open mouth. Kira had choked the detective. Smeared his seed across his lips while he bowed between his knees, where he belonged.

And now of himself: Light. Kira. God. Justice. A beautiful golden savior to the world's innocent people, his auburn hair spread across his face as his muscular arms, glistening with sweat, pumped his cock against his stained pillow feverishly. He knew there were cameras; he did not care if L saw Kira jerking himself off; L would understand. After all, it was his fault Light was so deprived. It was not Light's fault that Kira needed this. And as Light spilled over across his hands and soaked pillow with a deep groan his red eyes flashed with a sadistic ecstasy he had waited so long for… After all, who could satisfy a God if not a God?


End file.
